A history of pets

 
 

Butch, black cocker spaniel, collected

stinks, dirt, and open wounds into which our

father poured gentian violet.  Did not

come back one morning.  A brown and white mutt

-- I don’t recall its name – was shot by our

mother, beheaded, and pronounced rabid

by health folks who provided all five of us

with fourteen Friday nights of shots.  There was

Hooker, half-Persian cat who’d claw your back-

side through the open backed chairs and swing

by his hooks till you pulled him loose.  Short-Circuit,

affectionate cat that walked crooked, that’d been

BB-shot in the head.  Goat. Skunk. Some snakes.

 

--David Huddle